Father‘s Day was an uneventful day in my household growing up. I remember that day was just weird for my sisters and I. Kinda still is. Never understood the hype of the day for we didn’t have a father. I felt the need to vent my daddy issues for the world to read as the day to honor the men who procreated is soon approaching. I have no intentions to ruin the mood for those blessed to have a father active in their lives (yay for you!) but it’s therapeutic for me to speak concerning my absentee and deceased chromosome provider.
I was about 6 or 7 years old when I realized I didn’t have a father. I grew up in the 90’s and blended families were just at the early stages to be common. I learned I was missing a parent when a friend asked me why my dad wasn’t around. I remember very vividly my response, I shrugged my shoulders with an “I don’t know” and asked her how she found hers. This was a confusing conversation that had two kids breaking their head trying to figure out the missing parent. Later I asked my mom and she explained where my father was with eluded details but enough to satisfy my curiosity.
If you have followed by blog from the beginning, you know from the first entry I wrote about my mother and included some details of how my parents became separated. For those who have not read that entry (seriously what are you waiting on? Lol) I will briefly summarized. Mom came to to the USA for a better opportunity, dad promised to join us after but never did for he had an extra marital affair that he chose over us. My mom made an effort to keep the depressive details of his absence. She really never spoke ill about him as we grew up, even when we learned the truth she instilled in us respect and forgiveness (Well she tried).
The image of a father I had growing up, was a dad that was only available when we called him. We always initiated the calls. The calls were very seldom. They were brief and often we spoke about random things. I have many memories of my mom recording my sisters and I singing on a cassette to send to my dad. Letters were exchanged with him and he wrote how we were the most special loves in his life. My sisters and I asked him countless times for him to come join us. He always blamed the embassy for denying him a visa. My mom, sisters and I prayed so hard to be reunited with him but that never happened.
In his absence I slowly resented him. How could a man that promised I was important to him, leave us alone for so long? We saw struggle after struggle since my mom was the sole provider. When I realize my father was ”missing”, I started noticing how nice my friend‘s fathers were towards them. How daddies loved on their little girls. I would see my childhood best friend’s dad give her piggy back rides and I secretly wanted that. I didn’t even dare to ask if her dad could do that to me because my grandma warned me against interaction with older men (yeah thanks paranoid grandma). I never went to no daddy daughter dance and felt like an outsider when events like that happened. The more I saw the roles of other dads, the deeper the void grew in me.
In my teens I found out the real reason of why my dad never joined my family. How he betrayed my mom and took her generosity for granted. My mom slaved at a low income job but managed to save enough money to bring him to the USA. He declined the help because he wanted my mom to pay his mistress to come as well. This boiled my blood. My patience and respect towards him ran dry. I told him off after he criticized me for what I wanted to study and because I cut my hair (he wanted me to be a doctor/lawyer and said short hair was for boys). I still roll my eyes at this memory! This sent me over the edge and I basically told him I wanted his last name to be removed from my legal name for he was no father to me. I told him I would rather be a bastard than his child ( since young I used words for my defense).
At the age of 19 I met my father for the first time. I had just seen him in pictures. It was odd to meet him. He was crying and I was hard as a rock. Barely recognized him at the airport. This reunion was no thank to him, we were just curious to meet him and had the financial means to do it. On this trip he spoiled us with whatever we wanted. He threw me a birthday party, danced with me and I learned I got my sarcasm from him. This was the start to mend the relationship with him.
After our meeting, we kept in communication over the distance and it felt nice. When I got engaged a few years later, he had planned to walk me down the isle. That never happened. My dad passed away a few months before my wedding. My last call with him was dramatic. In his deathbed through tears he apologized for his bad decisions. I maintained calm during our last conversation and forgave him verbally as we said our last good byes. After the phone call, my mom and my sisters were crying uncontrollably. I wasn’t. I went along doing my errands for my wedding until my husband asked me if I was ok and forced me into a hug that broke my hardcore shell as I fell on my knees outside my house crying loudly and quite ugly.
My entire life I felt robbed. Robbed to not be “daddy’s little girl”. Why didn’t I get to have a father? Try answering that to an inquisitive little girl. While I’m forever grateful for the paternal roles my uncles have in my life, it is not the same as an actual father. Due to the absence of a father I didn’t quite know how to react with men. I didn’t trust men. Men were a mystery to me. I assumed all men cheat. Took me a while to let anyone know my emotions or in my personal space. My father‘s absence affected me even into adulthood. While it made me independent it also made me very defensive. I have a long list of daddy issues I still find myself dealing with.
Resentment is a dangerous poison for the heart. It easy to be bitter over the unfairness life throws. Forgiveness is not always the easiest of paths to take but it’s worth it. My father would have been a great one, if he would have chosen to be. I cannot control the past or what he decided but I can control how I deal with those consequences. As Father’s Day approaches, I remind myself of the very few good things I did get to know about the man who gave me life. This day no longer saddens or upsets me as much as before. It’s still weird but better. That’s progress friends!
If you find yourself at odds with your father, I nudge you to try to amend the relationship. Having a father is a blessing others wish they would have. Do whatever is in your power to improve that relationship which does impact your life in other areas. So go to your dad, daddy, father, pop, pappy, padre, begetter, procreator, papa... whatever you call him, just call him! Let him know how special he is. This world does not need more daddy issues.
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